


kiss me at arm's length

by moon (its_luna_the_trash)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Just Issues in General, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Self-Indulgent, Trust Issues, Unrequited Love, Yearning, but not too explicitly, for now, ill add more tags this bitch needs to sleep now, kinda but they don't really want to, lmao when tagging is harder than writing, man they do be kinda bad at communicating, no beta we die like men, tbh its kinda sexual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27474820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_luna_the_trash/pseuds/moon
Summary: He left. He stayed.Seeing you is like gum chewed up and tasteless, love is like choking on bleach and chemically burned stomaches.I would rather die than to believe in something so immoral.How tasteless is it to kiss under starlight? It's even worse when stars align to the greeting of our lips.-In which George doesn't believe in love, but let's be real, we all know there was something more between Dream and George ever since they was young. I mean,,, c'mon they gravitate towards each other and yanno,,, chemistry and shit. Also George left Dream for England bC tHe qUEen, so yeah..... wonder what's gunna happen.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 7





	1. Recollision

The universe began with nothing. It was no surprise that they would end up the same. George supposed that it was a miracle that humans came to be. Even more so that he was allowed to be so weak for the body next to him. After all, being born from the same amalgamation of space dust did not mean they belong. 

But, there was something hidden in the soft snores: something precious, something special; that felt so tender, so similar to the gravitational pull when planets collide to reach the singularity, that felt like coming home.

“Dream.” The brunette whispered, a welcoming sound to the silent scene unfolding. The corners of his lips threatened to curl up until he forced submission, adamant not to tangle the intricate and confusing whirlwind that is his heart. It was no secret that he thought the name beautiful (evident from the hours he spent chanting his name in front of the bathroom mirror as if it was a mantra or a siren’s lullaby), but to admit it is something all too sinful. 

So, George settled for paints- noted the exact angle the sun rays grazed his face and how his skin reflected sunlight almost as if he glowed (George wouldn’t be surprised if he was an angel). Fine-tuned the colours on his palette to match the shade of still life, then set up his easel and started on his masterpiece of which he will call “longing”.

During this venture, George realised just how much Dream had changed. His familiar youthful sheen seemed to be overshadowed by the dark under eyes he hung on his visage along with other decorations he deemed fit to signal the passage of time- the crease on his forehead and the furrow of his brows, for instance. Leaving the artist pondering at what worried his subject while swallowing the inkling feeling of their dissipating relationship.

“Hey, thanks for yesterday.” The blond said, voice raspy from being freshly awake. The unassuming picturesque photograph of the two shatters suddenly, and it is too quiet, too loud, too much.

“Yeah, no problem,” George replied curtly, allowing an uncomfortable silence to settle between them. He didn't want more fodder for his heart to burn, not when it ached like fingertips clawing at his throat, begging for a certain someone. But he wasn't the victim, the Earth would not stop spinning just because he left- he needed to be at peace with being forgotten.

The nature of silence is deafening. Even if they emptied their lungs with a howl they wouldn’t be heard. One of them tapped their fingers while the other surveyed the bedroom, on the same mattress: so close but so far, so far.

“You, uh, really like the colour blue, huh?” Dream chuckled humourlessly, ending the one-sided battle that dragged on for what felt like hours, “I mean, why else would everything you own be blue.”

“I’m colourblind, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

George visibly shrunk while holding back the tears pricking at his eyes, back facing the other, but Dream knew all too well how the older fell apart. Dream remarked how even after years of no contact and growing up, it’s terrifyingly easy to find the child shaking in the playground in his silhouette. Nevermind their history, though, Dream is carefully fortifying their distance by building a wall brick by brick. Of course, he remembered why blue was George’s favourite colour. Nevermind their history, though, he repeated to himself with a shrug.

The two stayed unmoving on the mattress. The tension lingering in the atmosphere was so thick and viscous that George struggled to catch his breath while the other was sure that his heart was going to give out.

In a moment of weakness (or bravery, the brunette hadn’t decided), he extended his trembling fingers to clasp the hand of the younger's, 

“We should probably talk about it,” Willing himself to initiate eye contact, desperately searching the gaze of the blond for recognition or reassurance. But to no avail, the only reassurance he attained in return was the quick retraction of his hand and thus the warmth he once knew.

George averted his gaze and took the hint, swallowed it down along with the lump in his throat. Carefully, he rose from his previous position and exited the room- for breakfast, he remarked.

The man in his room was now a castaway, alone and cold: a blizzard planted at his core when he denied the warm spring George so kindly presented. He blamed it all on George. Naturally, it was not his fault that his stomach always seemed to melt whenever they touch. Stars collide; planets implode, shrapnels impaled the insides of his belly- there was no way something so violent can be so beautiful. 

The blond lingered on the bed clutching the bedsheets, leaving wrinkles where his knuckles burned white-hot with emotion so overwhelming that he couldn't even begin to process. So he whimpered quietly and smoothed out the imprints on the sheets as he did with the ones on his hip.

He didn't want to think about the ones on his body, no. He didn’t want to see the faint blue swirls of passion nor the reasons they adorned so proudly on his body. Despite his repulsion, he couldn't help but smile at the mention of George's favourite colour. He wondered if the brunette had found his marks pretty, wondered if he would ever feel as pretty as the other had made him feel, wondered if they would ever be as close as they were. He wanted to look into the windows of his soul and count stars, wanted something so irrational that one could call it love.

His fancies made the bruising of his heart more intense than those on his hips. He dare not dream and sever the heartstrings holding the organ together, for he knew of the wall between both of them. He forced his mind blank and spat out fantasies like it was poison.

Deciding that he would join the other on his meal, he left the bedroom door creaking and sat on the chair at the dining table.

“I made you breakfast,” George stated, voice quiet but the thumping of his heart loud.

There sat two eggs- fried sunny-side-up, just like how Dream preferred. The younger nod his head in gratitude, then they both ate in silence. 

“Remember how we used to camp by the shitty campsite?” George chuckled humourlessly, “They only served scrambled eggs and you made such a scene because of that! You and your picky habits...” He trailed off with a fond smile. 

There was a pause, Dream had noticed the bittersweet gaze and the slumped shoulders from the other, a pang of pain settled through him when he saw George so defeated-

“Hey! They used cartoned eggs! Don’t call me picky when you literally can’t distinguish between edible and inedible,” They were making eye contact now, “But you would sneak into the kitchen just to make me food, so I guess I can’t be too mad.”

The look they held was soft, intimate in how they faltered and subconsciously parted their lips, so lost while drinking in the features of the other. It was so sweet, so forbidden.

Dream broke the trance with a cough, while the other ignored the reddening of his cheeks. The blond desperately searched for something to say, something to distract the other from the weakness he had shown. 

“When are you leaving again?” He had blurted out. The older gasped softly and let go of the breath he had taken in as if it was ripped away from him- he hadn't expected the blond to be so direct. They had both danced around the subject: the eventual goodbye, that is. George supposed that limbo was more comfortable- _easier_. He assumed that Dream had the same stance. Evidently not.

"Next week."

“Oh.”

George knew it was him- the ball was on his court and he had both the rackets. He tried to close the psychological distance between them, tried to reach out to the other (now with a forlorn look on his face), tried to open his mouth and speak, but words escaped him. Mouth open, and he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t speak. 

It was pathetic. Dream was across the table with his eyeline averted and he just gasped like a goddamned degenerate. There was so much history, so many emotions that if he just picked one and bared his guts that they might finally see each other. He could bring up the greedy touches that both were trying to ignore, or about the weather. Anything at all! Anything to prolong the conversation that distinctly screamed 'goodbye'.

But George’s mouth opened and stayed empty.

And soon enough, his apartment was too.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, mcyts has literally taken over my life. Fs in the chat for my college applications.
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated, have a good one ♥


	2. resurrection

They met at a party that their mutual friend had invited them to. Nothing was out of the ordinary, the ambience was filled to the brim with people singing and meaningless chatters and they were quiet, which worried Sapnap.

“Dream! Lighten up a little, Georgie here just came back from England,” Sapnap chuckled, handing both of the boys a drink, “You two used to be joint at the hip, man… The good ol’ days.”

However, the blond had chugged the contents of the red solo cup and stared at George as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Y-you alright?” George sounded uncharacteristically nervous. Instead of replying, Dream simply grunted and disappeared into the crowd.

There was a hand on George’s shoulder, warm and welcoming, soothing his dread at the beat of the music. 

“Hey, he’s always a little grumpy y’know? Don’t sweat it, he’ll come around!” Sapnap looked sympathetic, though if he was honest, he didn’t understand why Dream was so volatile, the three of them had always been good friends and got along.

True to the words of the raven haired boy, Dream did indeed come around- two hours into the party, with a drink in hand and ferocity in his movements.

“What are you doing here.” he grimaced, while trying his best to sneer at the other distastefully in his drunken stupor.

“And how the fuck is that your business?” George smiled sweetly, deciding that he had no obligation to play nice if the favour was not reciprocated.

“Wha-” The younger faltered, taken back how unaffected the other was acting. He furrowed his eyebrows, “You know you owe me an explanation, right?” The shorter male showed a face of indifference. It was frustrating. Perhaps it was due to alcohol influence (Dream liked this theory), he straightened his back and closed the distance between the two.

“Hey,” The blond let his body press into George and whispered hotly in his ear, “What’s a pretty boy like you doing here?” 

George shuddered at the low tone of his voice, instinctively leaning into the taller male. He had to admit- he liked the contact, though it wouldn’t be enough to coax his thoughts out of his mouth, he didn’t know what would happen if he explained himself.

The blond nibbled at his earlobe, catching the soft flesh between his teeth while slowly tilting his head backwards,

“Why aren’t you saying anything,” Dream whined, breath hot against Geroge’s neck, igniting his skin with goosebumps and sparks. 

“I-” The brunette bit his lips at the longing gaze of the other male, his confidence facade receding. He had realised that Dream was right, and he ought to make up for his sudden disappearance. But he couldn’t, his words lodged in the back of his throat, and he sighed when he had tried to speak.

“George, please.” The shorter male screwed his eyes shut not only at the plea but at the way Dream tenderly kissed along his jawline as well. “What do I have to do to make you talk to me?” Dream’s voice broke and the ache was apparent, and so was the fondness in those strings of kisses.

Glassy eyes met George’s, and though he couldn’t see the colour properly, he thought the swirls of yellow beautiful. It reminded him of dandelions, specifically the ones Dream used to bring him; muddy hands and the dull shine of the flower- A perfect intersection of them and nature. 

Ignoring the trail of thought, George focused onto what the other had said. It clicked at the same time for both of them.

Déjà vu.

“You said that too, before I left.” George treaded lightly on the open wound. It wasn’t light enough.

“Yeah, and you didn’t say shit, you stayed quiet, just like you are now.” Dream took a step back, he was trying to keep his distance, no matter how strong the pull, there was no use in baring his heart to someone who keeps singing the same broken tune- _Shame on you_ , he thought.

George was quick to attach to the younger again. And Dream had never been a warrior, he is soft and he melts, chuckling to himself- _Shame on me_.

The argument between the two was more of a battle of admission and passion than anything else. Both were conquered and returned defeated, their drunken state drove away reminders of ransom and instead moved the heat of their anger downwards to somewhere much more intimate.

Lips parted, George was hyper aware of how the other wetted his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue. Consequently, George ran his thumb along Dream’s lips, dazed by the way it reflected the dim light on the ceiling.

He held the blond’s face after trailing along his lips, caressing his cheek with his thumb. Dream leaned into the warm touch and sighed happily. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yeah, please.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, its 6am already T-T.
> 
> I hope you're all well and not procrastinating by reading/writing fanfics like I am,,,


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